First Night at the Oval Office
by Bill Birdbittle
Summary: The President of the US spends his first night in his office...and gets an unexpected visitor! An American take on the Wizard and Muggle Minister theme. Oneshot, kind of AU.


**A/N: I do not own or make money from the Harry Potter series. **

**I didn't use Obama as president because I'm pretty sure there's a rule against that on this site, and also because truth is more boring than fiction. **

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_The Oval Office, Executive Mansion, Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America_

Hermann Alderton, President of the United States, relaxed in his large cushy chair behind the Resolute desk.

At last. He had made it here. The Oval Office.

He had spent months on the campaign trail, working hard, so hard to win votes over the democratic nominee's overwhelming charisma. Hah! He had defeated, he had won. The former President and the President of the Senate had just left, offering their final congratulations and farewells. All of the old President's things were gone…except for that book he'd pointed out to Alderton.

"You might want to read that." He'd said as he left. "And soon." And then he'd shut the door, as the former vice president gave him a look of pure envy. At least Alderton thought it was envy. Actually it had looked more like malicious anticipation, but it could have passed for envy. Anyways.

Yes, he had a great deal of work to do, but his first day as President did not start until tomorrow. Tonight, he could celebrate. He reached for a glass and a bottle and poured himself a drink. A drink in the Oval Office.

"To me." He raised his glass. "To my presidency, and to my long-lasting success. And popularity." He brought the glass to his lips and drank.

"To you." A voice responded while he was still in mid-draught.

He swallowed quickly, nearly scalding his throat, and turned. He'd told his staff he wanted privacy…

He was alone. The President turned a complete circle in the center of the oval-shaped room and found no one else there.

There were microphones about, yes, but they weren't on tonight. He'd been told the full security measures did not go into effect until the first official day of his presidency, and that was tomorrow. He examined the room about him curiously, then shrugged and poured another glass, raising it again.

"To me, to my presidency, and to my long-lasting sanity." He chuckled this time as he brought the glass to his mouth.

"To you, again, but could we get on with it?" Asked the same voice, more impatiently this time.

Hermann Alderton nearly choked on his drink, and only barely averted dying a horrible death on the very first evening of his term. But surely…surely…no, it had to be…

The eagle on the ceiling was moving. Not just the imaginary movement of eyes or the slight twitching dismissible as a mind trick, but really moving. It had turned its plaster head, looked straight at him. He stared up at it in its mold on the ceiling.

"His Excellency the President is on his way." The eagle informed him, and then immediately spread its wings again, tucked its head to the side, and was still.

Hermann stared at it, craning his neck up at the ceiling. He had only had two good gulps of alcohol…He looked critically at the glass in his hand, then back up at the eagle. "His…what?"

"His _Excellency_, the Wizard President, Commander-in-Chief of the Magical United States America is on his way." The eagle did not look down again, but retained his stiff posture to the side.

Alderton looked around him, feeling slightly dizzy of a sudden. "It's not real…"He began to croak, deliberately not looking upward at the eagle again.

He did not finish his sentence. A flash of bright green sent him reeling back a few paces until he bumped up against one of the couches. The entire fireplace had spontaneously erupted into flame. Green flame. He waited for the sprinklers to start whirring, the alarms to go off, and his security detail to come rushing in, but nothing happened, and the green flames continued to lick at the marble mantelpiece.

And then…He knew now he had to be drunk. A figure emerged, shimmered through the flame, then materialized and stepped out onto the presidential rug, very real and very solid as it shook sooty residue off of its clothes. The flames stopped abruptly and the room fell silent.

The stranger looked up as Hermann tried to take another step back and sank abruptly onto the couch.

"Your Honor." The stranger held out his hand, taking a step forward. "Mr. President."

The dark hand hung in the air for a moment before Hermann took it and shook it more lightly than usual. "You…"

The stranger held up his hand for silence. "Please. Spare me your drivel. I have heard many excuses from muggles such as yourself about the impossibility of my existence. But I am here, and we are both practical men of business. Shall we get down to it?" He gestured to the opposite couch.

Hermann nodded dumbly. Assassination attempt? He would know if it were. Elaborate hazing hex? His security detail wouldn't stand for it. Maintenance malfunction? His _wife_ wouldn't stand for it. Terrorist plot?

He stared suspiciously at the man across from him. His skin was a light shade of brown, he had a halting accent, and he _was _wearing a funny cloak, but he didn't look like a terrorist. The size of his nose and the tilt of his cheekbones firmly declared him an American. Well, maybe a Mexican. Or Canadian.

"Who…are you?" He asked slowly.

"Migisi will have told you." The man pointed up at the now-static eagle medallion on the ceiling. "But I find that often the warning does more harm than good. I am Pivane Crowfoot." He laid his cloak neatly over the arm of the chair. "And I am the Wizard President of the United States. Your magical counterpart."

"My magical…"

"Yes." President Crowfoot continued. "You see, there is a fairly sizeable and _very_ covert subculture within the United States. The Magical States, we call them. This subculture is made up of wizards and other magically-associated creatures and persons." He paused, waiting for a response, and then went on.

"We wizards existed on this continent before white men arrived." He gestured to himself, and Alderton grasped at what he was saying. Indians. Native Americans. Crowfoot was some sort of Indian President. Well, how backward, how racial, how selfishly segregated of them! He vowed to put a stop to that, and_ soon. _

Crowfoot was going on. "We founded our own government, firstly to keep you people from killing us. Your Puritan witch hunts really took a toll, and not just on us. And secondly, we wanted to keep ourselves from killing you. We've got such power, it's very tempting to abuse it. So we copied your legal system, molded the two alongside one another, and here we are." He held out his hands.

"When anything of great importance happens in the magical world, I will tell you. Now…"

Alderton gaped at him. "I don't quite understand."

Crowfoot looked puzzled, then gave a nod. "Of course." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a long, slender stick of wood. "Magic. The magic that sets my people apart from yours. Shall I do a spell? How about a little more light?"

He waved the wand, muttered some strange word, and floating balls of flame, about the size of golf balls, appeared, wafted around the room, setting sudden, flickering light over the whole office.

Alderton gazed around him. "How…?"

"Magic." Crowfoot replied simply, leaning back into his couch. "I suggest you make yourself comfortable, this usually takes a while."

Alderton grasped at the empty glass in his hand, studied the man across from him in the newly-lit office. Beneath the cloak he wore a neat suit which looked almost out of place against his distinctly Indian features. His black hair was only lightly streaked with silver. He was a younger man than Alderton himself, but he seemed fully capable, relaxed.

_And I am a wreck_, Alderton thought. "What do you mean?"

Crowfoot leaned forward and rolled the odd wooden stick in his hands. "Let me explain."

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Three hours later, he was still a wreck. He realized as he stared at his 'wizard counterpart' that he was slouching. "And…I can't tell anyone?"

"As I said." Crowfoot explained patiently. "Muggles, non-wizards, cannot control wizards. Our power is too great. We have to set up our own safeguards, for you and your people. The consequences of wizards unchecked…of a corrupt magical government…" His dark eyes seemed to trail away, and he shook his head as if to clear his mind. "Such a thing happened not long ago in the UK, and it was _bad._ Both wizard and muggle refugees came here to America for safety. But," He returned to the topic at hand. "That won't happen as long as I, and my cabinet, my Vice President, Secretary of Defense, our Representatives and all the rest stay vigilant and keep working."

"Yes." Alderton desperately wished for a good strong black coffee. "Do. And I'll know if _your_ people threaten mine?"

"You will." Crowfoot gave a nod. "We have liaison officers in many places. But don't worry. Here in the States, our worlds are so mixed, it's unlikely there'll be any trouble. There is the occasional incident, but usually nothing major. Incidents like say, the Curse of Tippecanoe are rare nowadays."

"Tippecanoe…" Alderton's head was reeling. Of course. The Presidential Curse. "And so all, uh…normal presidents have known about…this?" He asked nervously.

"Oh, yes. I informed the last president myself in 2009. The Vice President is also to be informed. In fact, yours is on his way here now."

Alderton remembered the look on the ex-vice president's face when he had left. No, it had definitely not been envy. The little snot.

Crowfoot was continuing. "Of course, we can't afford to come through the floo anytime. We have to have an eye to make sure that you're alone. That's why we have Migisi." He pointed up at the eagle on the ceiling. "Migisi's eye is enchanted so that I can see into your office from above. And the words on the seal will change if I want to send you a message. So, keep an eye out."

"Is that really necessary?" Alderton asked, a little disgruntled. "I _am_ the President."

"Well, ever since your predecessors decided they wanted to keep changing the décor with each term, we haven't had a lot of options. Do you know which aspects of the room don't change with the occupants?"

Alderton glanced around. The room still bore the former president's carpeting and curtains, and the couches were old, but his own paintings were newly hung on the walls. "The grandfather clock, the desk…"

"Wrong. The only real constants are the fireplace, so that I can floo in and out, the eagle, so that I can watch you, and the flags, of course."

"What do the flags do?"

"Nothing, they're just there." Crowfoot assured him. "We couldn't be too obvious."

"Oh, of course not."

"We will have to explain it all to your Vice President tonight, and others as necessary. I suggest you get the book."

"The book?"

"Yes, it's all in the book. The President's secret book." Crowfoot clarified, seeing Alderton's blank expression. "Surely they gave you the book?"

"Oh." Alderton remembered the simple brown book sitting on his desk. "Yes."

"Get it, you'll need it." The wizard advised. "There's lots in there that every president needs to know, and not just about magic. And it's enchanted, so you don't need to worry about running out of room."

"Splendid." Alderton echoed, making a feeble attempt at motion, then sinking back. What had he done with the alcohol? Something told him he might need more.

There was a knock at the door.

"That'll be your Vice." Crowfoot said, rising to get it.

Hermann braced himself as his second-in-command entered the room, then stopped as he took in the scene. Alderton. Crowfoot. The hovering orbs of fire.

_Oh, dear._

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**J.K. Rowling mentioned the Salem Witches Institute in America, but I was thinking, and the origins of 'magic' in the Americas go back a lot farther than the witch trials, all the way back to the Native American peoples. So that's where Pivane Crowfoot comes from. And yes, Pivane is an actual Indian name, from the Hopi tribe. **


End file.
